Mad World
by Blitzqueen
Summary: [ONE SHOT] Blitzwing has a rather dark beginning, and a sad song only causes these bitter memories to resurface.
_All around me are familiar faces_

I…can still see them; the haunted, offline faces of the ones to have come before me. The other ten Series. I know who they all are; both in their numbers, and designations.

 _Worn out places, worn out faces._

The building I'd been trapped in was falling apart on itself—but not even the creaking from it that I could hear at times seemed worse than the condition of the others' frames. All of them overworked; so clear within dark optics and mouths held in a permanent scream of pain, whilst their sparks drift aimlessly within an empty Void.

 _Bright and early for their daily races_

None of us—myself, nor the other Series—really got much recharge. Testing, experimentation, repairs; always done late into the night-cycle. It only began again as soon as the first light began to show. Series Five… I'd even heard he had offlined because of his lack of recharge. Doesn't seem like it had changed much despite that. We'd all be forced to work our hardest in that lab…

 _Going nowhere, going nowhere_

It never mattered how much any of us had worked; we only got rewarded if we'd done exceptionally well. I…guess I don't know exactly why _I_ , myself, did it… To please my…creator…I suppose. My work never really got me anywhere, though; it never got any of us anything but further testing and pain…

 _Their tears are filling up their glasses_

So many tears of sorrow and agony shed within that lab…

 _No expression, no expression_

Although their lip-plates forever remain parted in a silent scream and plea for release from the torture we'd all endured, their black optics left their faces blank, eerily lifeless.

 _Hide my head, I wanna drown my sorrow_

Even to this cycle, what happened within that lab leaves me with a deep ache within both spark and processor. My helm is often bowed, optic angled either to the floor, or unfocused so as to look right through someone. I've…constructed walls around myself; no one can know of this pain. I am…just a weapon, after all.

 _No tomorrow, no tomorrow_

Cycle-after-cycle of being torn apart and then put together once again; physical and verbal abuse; my processor all but destroyed—I still don't fully understand how it is I'm still online. I should have offlined upon that operating table time and time again. When I was young, ,tomorrow' only ever meant either more pain, or finally a release from it all.

 _And I find it kinda funny_

 _I find it kinda sad_

 _The dreams in which I'm dying_

 _Are the best I've ever had_

I…I'm not proud to admit this, but during my…procedure…I prayed and I prayed for my spark to stop. I begged for Primus to release me from my agony; prayed that when I fell into recharge, I wouldn't wake up again.

 _I find it hard to tell you_

 _I find it hard to take_

Saying these things aloud makes the weight of it all come crashing down. I've…never been able to handle it; there's a reason that I'm far from a sane mech.

 _When people run in circles_

 _It's a very, very mad world, mad world_

Everyone around me is always in a rush, it seems… Does anyone even know how to take things slowly anymore? Others take advantage of what they have; they don't realize that, one cycle, it can all be ripped away from them. They can retreat into happier childhood memories when their cycles become poor—they don't need a Medic to sedate them to do so. They all run around without a single care in the world…

 _Children waiting for the day they feel good_

 _Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday_

 _And I feel the way that every child should_

My processor still causes me so much pain; but I've come to the realization that I just need to accept the way that I am—there's no way to change it, lest I want to go through similar yet again. I stand tall and strong and keep marching onward; cycle-by-cycle, vorn-by-vorn.

 _Sit and listen, Sit and listen_

I don't want to offline; not anymore. I've had…friends, to thank for that. Friends I can proudly call my brothers despite their anomalies. They…aided me a great deal after I left that lab.

 _Went to school and I was very nervous_

 _No one knew me, no one knew me_

After I was restationed from my original squadron, I began a lot of shifting between many different Commanders; I was never really with whatever platoon or squad I ended up in for very long. I didn't really meet many others because of it; not that I was upset with it, but rather that I didn't know what to expect any time my station was changed.

 _Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson_

 _Look right through me, look right through me_

Most of my Commanders were never very patient with me. It is almost…humoring how many times my station was changed just because I had a Commander who refused to have a—how did they always put it?—"glitched, tri-faced freak" I believe?—work under them. Ahh, or some would simply pretend I was simply not there until I, myself, requested a relocation. Ha…how humoring it can be, so long as it is not yourself, hmm?

 _And I find it kinda funny_

 _I find it kinda sad_

 _The dreams in which I'm dying_

 _Are the best I've ever had_

 _I find it hard to tell you_

 _I find it hard to take_

 _When people run in circles_

 _It's a very, very mad world, mad world_

 _Enlarging your world_

 _Mad world_


End file.
